


Aftermath

by neverfaltering



Series: After [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Procedures, Sick Bucky Barnes, couple mentions of violence but nothing too graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 11:04:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7530199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverfaltering/pseuds/neverfaltering
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They don’t tell you about the aftermath. They tell you of the situation, like yeah war is going to be terrible but no one really says the recovering is the hardest part.</p><p>Of course, Bucky’s life was an entirely different situation. It wasn’t just a war he went to, and came back from. It was a war that his mind played every minute of the day.</p><p>The worst was coming back and trying to be normal again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [13susan59](https://archiveofourown.org/users/13susan59/gifts).



> hello everyone  
> im back  
> this is for 13susan59 because they were really supportive of my other bucky- in-hydra fic, so here u go thanks for being so great.  
> civil war was just basically marvel flinging ideas at the viewers, like WRITE ABOUT THAT THING WE DIDNT ELABORATE ON!! AND THAT!!  
> so now i have ~ideas~ 
> 
> here enjoy

They don’t tell you about the aftermath. They tell you of the situation, like _yeah war is going to be terrible_ but no one really says _the recovering is the hardest_ _part._

Of course, Bucky’s life was an entirely different situation. It wasn’t just a war he went to, and came back from. It was a war that his mind played every minute of the day.

The worst was coming back from Hydra, and trying to be normal again.

 

Bucky wasn’t _rescued._ He wouldn’t use that word. It would imply _saving,_ and although the appearance of Steve and his friends brought him to a better place, it didn’t _heal him completely,_ which is usually what “rescuing” meant as a word.

No, rather, he spent his days trying not to think about his past, but he didn’t have a _present,_ making it near impossible.

He wouldn’t let anyone touch him because everything, _everything_ felt like a damn threat that he should have run away from.

Steve learned quickly. He had attempted to wrap an arm around Bucky’s shoulder, but Bucky nearly jumped out of his skin. Steve looked terrified and shocked and understanding all at once. Bucky couldn’t handle the weight of his gaze. He resorted to sitting in his room for the rest of the day, trying to sleep his way through the tears.

Not that sleep was any better, though. His nightmares were less frequent now that he had figured out his mind a little bit. He’d set his alarm clock multiple times a night, since the nightmares frequented when he got more than three hours of sleep at a time.

Still, there were times they still appeared. People often imagined that the dreams caused people to scream and thrash, but it wasn’t like that for Bucky, which resulted in his friends not really noticing, besides his bloodshot eyes. For him, it was more of a silent battle, where his body seemed to produce sweat by the buckets, to the point where he’d wake up and find it dripping off his face. He woke to find himself still in the “soldier” position he favored, with no moving of limbs whatsoever.

He was messed up. Beyond it.

He remembered when he was first brought back from Hydra, courtesy of Steve and Sam and Nat (and the rest.) People in white immediately whisked him away from the few people he had only begun to start familiarizing with, bringing all his terrors back. He has associated the color white with the color of pain. He didn’t know they were trying to help him. They placed an oxygen mask over his mouth, and it soon made him hazy. He remembered it being really warm. Fuzzy. Painful. Nothing he didn’t know previously. He tried to fight it, tried to stay awake. He wanted to be awake when they decided he wasn’t a useful asset anymore. They kept pumping him up, though, and he soon relented, falling into a slumber that seemed to last for mere seconds.

He woke to find more people he didn’t know at his side, poking and prodding all over. Apparently he had suffered from a gunshot wound, and it was steadily gushing still. They rushed to cover it, to stitch it, to force the skin back together. Bucky found it sort of amusing, later on. He wasn’t going to be easy to fix.

A man seemed to be performing some sort of check-up on him, if the stethoscope and needles were anything to go by. He repeatedly told Bucky to “relax” as he tried to listen to his heart. Bucky couldn’t, though. He tried to slow his breathing, he really did. Except he didn’t know this man. Perhaps he was from Hydra, ready to sedate him at any given second. His muscles were tense, and the man was getting a little fed up, Bucky could tell, although he tried to hide it.

Bucky knew the signs that came with someone becoming mad at him. And he knew what came after that, too. Endless torture.

“Sorry, sorry,” he breathed. “‘m trying. Please don’t,” he tried. “Please don’t hurt me.”

There was something in the man’s eyes that he never saw in the eyes of Zola’s men. Sympathy? Kindness? After years of only the worst, Bucky didn’t know how to recognize the positives anymore. He continued pleading, trying to do his best to comply and be the best soldier he could be.

“It’s alright,” the man said. “Breathe. Take your time.”

Bucky almost didn’t hear him over the blood pumping in his ears. He was still undeniably tense, and the hand that was laying on his shoulder was beginning to become a source of panic.

He forced himself to stop moving and lay flat on the cot, although he still felt as if he had just run a mile.

“I’m okay,” Bucky told him, even though he was far from it. He just didn’t want them to hurt him. “You can start now.”

The man spared him a glance before leaving the room, only to come back with half a dozen more people. _This is it,_ Bucky thought. _They’re going to kill me the hard way._

He braced himself for impact, braced himself for bruises and cuts and fractures. It didn’t come. Instead, he felt flooded with air, and everything became hazy once again. He could still hear, though.

_“He’s so tense. So, so tense.”_

_“-thinks we’re going to hurt him.”_

_“How do we-”_

_“Not now.”_

_“Increase it.”_

_“He’s already on enough of it.”_

_“Not enough if he’s still conscious. We need him out.”_

And that was the last thing he heard before he passed out _._

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! if u liked it then u should definitely tell me :D btw im going to write a second part to this because it's kind of short and left off abruptly.


End file.
